


Of Mantids and Witches

by ScarletCorvid



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 12:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15194558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletCorvid/pseuds/ScarletCorvid
Summary: Mrs. Porter helps Watson with his aphid infestation and lets him in on a little secret that has nothing to do with gardening.





	Of Mantids and Witches

**Author's Note:**

> Written for smallfandomfest on Dreamwidth.

Even though Watson Brewer knew what was getting into marrying a woman with four children of her own when he had two of his own and then agreeing to adopt a seventh, there were times he was mildly surprised he didn’t lose his mind. As much as he loved his kids there were times when the noise and chaos got to be a little too much and he needed to retreat somewhere quiet and serene. As long as he could remember, long before he had seven children or even just Karen herself, that place had always been the garden.

The garden had been there before Watson had been born himself, a project that Ben Brewer had taken up when he was just a young man who’d just married and purchased his first home. Back in those days it was vegetables and herbs only, none of the flowers that Watson himself would grow to love and love to grow as he got older and took over the plot of land himself.

Of course, he couldn’t tell his daughter that her great-grandfather had started the garden or she would have had conniptions over eating the vegetables from it. Someday Karen’s overactive imagination might lead her into a good career doing something within the arts. For now, it was the bane of Watson and Elizabeth’s existence. Though, to be fair, her belief that Ben Brewer was a ghost that haunted the third floor was nothing compared to her outright obsession with witches, including their neighbor, Mrs. Porter, who Karen believed to be a witch.

Just thinking about Karen and Mrs. Porter made a brief, dull tingle flash in Watson’s hand. The location were his daughter’s teeth had left a bruise for three weeks on his wedding day, when he tried to quiet her fears that their harmless neighbor was just bringing him a wedding present. That was the last time he tried to put his hand over her mouth to silence her, that was for sure. The witch obsession was just something that Karen would have to outgrow. 

That was the reason why Watson almost never mentioned how well he actually did know their neighbor. Mrs. Porter was on the eccentric side, for sure, but she was a fount of wisdom about gardening and knew much about the history of Stoneybrook. The two had shared some interesting talks over the years, their gardens separated by not more than a dozen feet. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Watson saw a swirl of black approaching him. It was as if thinking about Mrs. Porter had brought her out to see him. She did have a funny way of doing that. He turned to face her, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

“What do you think, Mrs. Porter? The aphids seem to be the only one enjoying these tomato plans so far.”

The elderly woman knelt beside him with a surprising amount of grace. She was carrying a plastic margarine tub in her hands, holes poked into the lid. Setting it down on the grass in front of her, she gave Watson a crooked smile. The scent of sage seemed to cling to her as she bent down to pry open the container.

“I was wondering if you might be having the same problem with the aphids as me,” She chuckled lightly. And yes, Watson couldn’t help but notice it did have a slight cackle-like quality to it. “So I brought over something to help.”

The old lady put her hand inside the tub, and when she drew it out a small Praying Mantis. “The best aphid killer money can buy.”

“I haven’t been lucky enough to have a Mantis in my garden for years,” He smiled and held out his hand to coax the insect over to him. “Still pretty young, by the looks of it. Did you hatch it yourself?”

“I did.” Mrs. Porter smiled proudly. “It’s been a bad summer for aphids. He’ll get nice and fat in your garden.”

The graceful, green insect finally agreed to climb onto Watson’s hand. He held his new attend closer to his face to get a good look at him. Mantises had always intrigued him and they’d been his favorite bug to go hunting for as a child. 

“I’m sure he’ll do a great job,” His attention turned back to the woman kneeling on the grass beside him. “Th-”

“NO! IT’S MAGICKED DADDY!” A sharp, loud scream carried across the yard. 

The Mantis decided in a flurry of green wings that it was not cut out for such leaps of logic and fluttered upwards. A moment later, Watson felt something settle on his bald head. He might have found the idea of wearing a Praying Mantis for a toupee funny if Karen wasn’t screaming and gesturing wildly from the porch.

“Karen!” Watson called. “Quiet down.” 

Kristy, Watson’s stepdaughter, came outside to see what was happening. By the look on her face, she was about as fed up with her little sister’s witch hijinks as everyone else in the family. 

“Come back inside, Karen.”

“BUT THE WITCH GAVE DADDY A MAGIC BUG!” Karen shrieked plaintively. “IT WILL CURSE THE GARDEN!” 

“Karen Brewer, you get inside this instant!” The voice of Watson’s mother-in-law rang out through the still afternoon. It was not quite a yell, but held all the sternness of a drill sargent’s command. None of the kids would defy Nannie. Heck, sometimes Watson was a little afraid of her himself.

Kristy steered Karen inside, her mouth moving with words they couldn’t hear from the garden. The little girl’s shoulders slumped and right before she disappeared through the back door, she shot Mrs. Porter a wicked glare. It was hard to tell if it was anger at getting scolded or fear over the gift of the Praying Mantis. Knowing Karen, it was both and then some. 

“I’m sorry,” Watson turned back to his neighbor, feeling that familiar flush creep up the back of his neck, the one that always seemed to turn up around the same time as Karen’s antics. “I don’t think she means to insult you. We’ve tried to do everything we can to convince her this witch business isn’t real, but she’s a very imaginative girl…”

He trailed off, feeling awkward and more than a little ridiculous with a Praying Mantis sitting on his bald pate. 

“Watson,” Mrs. Porter’s tone was almost gentle. “Young children have imaginations, yes, but sometimes they’re more wise than we give them credit.”

She reached out her hand, gnarled with age and dotted with dark spots. For a split second Watson had to resist the urge to shrink away, the irrational concern she was about to lay a curse on him rising up out of nowhere. Thankfully he had managed to stay motionless, allowing the old woman to retrieve the insect from his head.

The harmless, lonely old woman who had been a good neighbor to them as long as he could remember. Karen’s foolishness had to stop soon if it was starting to affect even him, no matter how momentary the lapse had been. 

“Well, I’m sorry.” He sighed. “I’ll have another talk with her. It’s no good for her to go around spreading nonsense about people.”

“Nonsense?” The old woman chuckled, that hint of a cackle dancing around its edges again. “It is nonsense that I would ever cause harm to the children that live here, or anyone else for that matter. But as for being a Witch...well, your daughter has managed to see more than you, my old friend.”

“Uh...huh?” Watson blinked. 

Mrs. Porter brought the Mantis close to her, looking down at the bug with a fond expression. Her lips moved silently, then she lowered her hand to the ground. The insect stepped off onto the rich, dark dirt at the garden’s edge. It seemed to consider its new home a moment, then casually strolled down the strip of dirt between the two rows of tomato plants and melted away into the green of the plants.

“Magic is all around us.” Her eyes moved back to Watson. “Now, at Karen’s age, magic seems like bubbling potions, curses and explosions. But it’s more like our friend there, the Mantis, moving into the garden to play his role in the cycle of life.”

He nodded slowly, not entirely sure he understood. “Well, nature is certainly magical...but I don’t know if it’s magic itself.”

“It is, and so much more.” The smile that lit the old woman’s face hinted at a time many years ago when she might have been beautiful. “But that’s my path to follow. You may see it your own way. And someday, your daughter may see it yet a third way. That’s what makes life worth living.”

Watson felt himself start to smile too. “You’re right about that, Mrs. Porter.”

She gathered her black shirt around her and slowly rose to her feet. “Well, I must be getting back inside. I’ve got some zucchini bread in the oven. Cooking with the things you grew with your own two hands is magical too, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Most definitely. Hopefully our new friend will help the tomatoes come along and I’ll bring you over some fried green tomatoes in thanks.”

“It’s a deal.” Mrs. Porter nodded briskly and turned to head back to her own yard. Then she paused and looked back at him, a slight smile touching her wrinkled mouth. “And do me a favor?”

“Sure?” 

“Don’t tell your daughter she’s figured out the neighborhood Witch just yet, hmmm? I think we’ll all be happier if Karen doesn’t know Witches are real just yet.”

Without missing a beat, Mrs. Porter turned around again and strode back into her lawn, black skirts swirling around her ankles. Watson watched her climb the steps to the back door of her house and disappear, his mouth open slightly in shock. 

The Mantis surveyed the warm, smooth surface at the top of his head from its perch on a tomato plant, blissfully unaware of anything but moving back to a nice sitting location. He crouched and prepared to spring just as the sunny spot rose far up into the sky. Disappointed, he dropped back down to the ground beneath the tomato plant, hunting for a few aphids as a consolation prize.

“I bet her name isn’t Morbidda Destiny, at least.,” Watson mumbled as he began to slowly walk to his own back door. “But maybe I should have asked anyway.”


End file.
